In the Interlude

Chapter 7 - Les Misérables

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be taking off for Casablanca Mohammed V Aeroport. Please fasten your seatbelts, fold away your table and ensure your seat back is in the upright position. We remind you that this flight is a non-smoking one and ..."

Aïcha gave her full attention to the air hostess who was demonstrating the flight instructions of what-to-do-in-case-the-plane-crashed-and-everyone-died. She instinctively looked up as if the oxygen mask was going to magically appear.

Soon the plane took off and Aïcha watched Paris shrink below her from the small window. She hated the sensation of uneasiness and discomfort pressing on her chest and stomach, only feeling relief when the plane was steadily flying in the endless sky.

She was finally able to relax and enjoy the very early flight. If the plane arrived on time, she would be able to surprise her daughter and pick her up from her dance class. She was very much looking forward to seeing the look on Mia's face.

She gazed out the small window as the plane glided over the cotton candy clouds. Listening to Ella Fitzgerald's 'April in Paris' through her headphones, her mind drifted slowly to yesterday's events.

* * * * *

Tom was excited to visit La Maison de Victor Hugo. It was such a unique experience, being able to walk in the footsteps of the brilliant man who wrote Les Misérables and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. He had visited Paris many times, including Place des Vosges but had never paid attention to this.

Aïcha and Tom wandered together side by side getting into the different rooms of the house turned into a museum. Each room contained the period furniture the author had used including the bed he died in. Some of the wall hangings depicted characters of Victor Hugo's novels and they both played a game of trying to guess which one it was. To say the least, she knew her Victor Hugo very well.

Aïcha spent a lot of time looking into everything Léopoldine related, Victor Hugo's daughter who had died too soon. His personal tragedy touched her deeply, too deeply. Tearing at her heartstrings, it took her every ounce of self-control to not cry. She didn't want Tom to notice any of this.

But he noticed. He saw a sadness in Aïcha's eyes, the kind that could only have been experienced first-hand. And he wondered why. He was itching to reach out, hold her hand and ask her but had second thoughts about it. Unsure about how to ask and what to ask.

Lost in thoughts, he didn't see Aïcha coming straight towards him until she was facing him. He took off his audio-guide and smiled. "This place is amazing. It's like stepping back in time. I can practically imagine Victor Hugo sitting in his room writing down the greatness that will become Les Misérables."

"I'm glad you like it. It's not my first visit and I still find it fascinating to be here. It's such a gift to be able to witness all this". She smiled as she added, "I also wanted to show you the library on the third floor but I am afraid it's already closed," she told him apologetically.

"That's a pity, but also a good excuse to maybe come back one day?" He teased, an amused smile on his face.

Unable to hold his gaze, Aïcha looked away and quickly switched the conversation to a less slippery ground. "Fun fact: did you know that Victor Hugo wrote a book about Shakespeare?"

"No, I did not. And here I am, thinking I know everything that is to know about Shakespeare," he answered in a self-deprecating tone.

"Don't beat yourself up," she chortled. "The title of the book is misleading as Victor Hugo doesn't only talk about Shakespeare but about all the authors he considered as the greatest of all time, starting all the way back to ancient Greek."

The museum was closing its doors as they stepped outside and walked towards the garden in the middle of Place des Vosges, both unsure what to do and say next.

Aïcha took a deep breath and looked around, soaking up the last day's hours of warm sunshine. "April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom. Holiday tables, under the trees."

"Of course, April in Paris, Ella Fitzgerald, right? Such a beautiful song. It really captures the essence of the city."

Aïcha stopped as a sudden breeze caught her auburn hair, making it twirl around her face.

Tom, hands in his pockets, watched as she raised her arms to pull her hair into a loose ponytail, his eyes drawn to her breasts as they strained against her t-shirt. He swallowed nervously and before he could stop himself, his hand tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

Aïcha froze, her heart pounding in her chest, pulsating in her ear. She cleared her throat. "I, hmm, well, I had a great time. But I need to go as I have an early flight to catch tomorrow."

Tom tilted his head, rubbing a hand along his beard. "You know, we didn't have time to speak about Morocco. You promised me some sightseeing tips if I recall correctly."

Why did he look so good? Aïcha groaned under her breath. "Tell me again, when will you be in Morocco?"

"Let me think. " He looked at her as he searched his mind for an answer. "Filming starts early May in Marrakech where we'll stay for two weeks, then a week in Essaouira and a week in Casablanca, give or take."

"Wow, that looks intense." She added, "I'm not sure that I'll be in Casablanca end of May though. But I can send you a list of things to do and see. You still have my business card?" He nodded while Aïcha continued speaking. "Drop me a line and I'll happily send that to you."

Aïcha was lying through her teeth. Of course she was going to be in Casablanca but was unwilling to entertain the idea that he would still want to see her after today. So she did what she was a master at - assumed the worst and saw the glass half empty in an attempt to protect herself and her shattered heart in the process.

Tom was disappointed. He didn't want this day to end and was hoping to see more of her before going back to London. Maybe take her out for drinks or even dinner. There was still so much he wanted to ask her. So much he wanted to share with her. Now it seems that he wouldn't even be seeing her in Casablanca. 

"Well, I really hope that we can meet in Morocco, one way or another. Let's see what the future holds in store for us, shall we?"

Tom approached and held his arms open hugging Aïcha tightly and keeping her there just a bit longer than he would normally do.

Argh, he smells so damn good. She closed her eyes and enjoyed this more than she admitted to herself.

* * * * *

Daydreaming, Aïcha didn't hear the steward asking if she wanted something to drink. The passenger to her left gave her shoulder a gentle tap then pointed to the steward and his tray of coffee and tea. "Juste un verre d'eau, merci." She was handed the glass of water she requested.

Aïcha sat there, looking through the window, wondering how a small encounter was building up to have such an impact on her.

An encounter with a handsome, sweet and exciting man who seemed to enjoy her company, only God knows why. This was something she was brilliant at. Putting herself down to crush the possibility of anything positive. She knew she was doing it again, but she had to.

She was not going to sit and hope that maybe one day, this brilliant and busy actor, no doubt surrounded by far more beautiful women than she would ever be, would reach out to her for sightseeing tips.

Who was she kidding? She felt ridiculous, stupid and decided that this small interlude in Paris was going to stay just that, an interlude in Paris.

Une parenthèse enchantée.